Don't Neglect Your Pet
by peridot3783
Summary: Drabbles, ficlets and other products of my overheating brain.
1. Don't Spend It All At Once

I've got a few ideas for drabbles and ficlets hanging around, so I decided to see what other people made of them. The title's taken from an unrelated and unsuspecting song by a band called the Brunettes. Um… enjoy?

* * *

First off: a drabble written while I was supposed to be writing an essay.

Word count: 98

Don't Spend It All At Once

It seemed like Bernadelli's entire workforce was in his office, looking entirely too shifty. Karen, however, looked smug. The Chief sighed and buried his head in his hands.

"Let me get this straight. You _all_ bet on what would happen to Stryfe?"

One filing clerk, nervous: "Uh, yeah. Most people bet that she'd never find The Stampede, or that she'd come home crying, and some bet she'd kill him… and Karen – only Karen - bet that they'd… get married."

"So what does this have to do with getting an advance on your pay?"

Karen handed him the invitation.

* * *

Does this make any sense to anyone else? Kindly review. 


	2. King Harvest Has Surely Come

Second one... It's ok to just quote, right? If it isn't, tell me and I'll remove it. This is set during the series, sort of about Knives trying a new, slightly confused, metaphor for humanity (spiders and butterflies is a little old) Ah, being overly dramatic - there's nothing like it.

* * *

Word count not including quote: 97

King Harvest

_Corn in the fields.  
Listen to the rice when the wind blows 'cross the water,  
King Harvest has surely come.  
_

Humanity had multiplied in His absence. After the bleak warning of July, they'd heeded nothing and turned on each other in fear, done nothing but breed and thought of nothing but revenge. With the help of His servants – and eventually His Brother – He would teach them to think of their proper place before they died. They'd know before the end what they were - filth and garbage. Nothing more than a diseased crop of weeds grown tall. A smile flitted across His face, and He started to move. Harvest time had come, and He was the reaper.

* * *

Note on the capitalisation: it's because I can see Knives thinking of himself like that. It's like how they write about God in the Bible – it's not 'he', it's 'He'. Knives does have an enormous ego.

I do not own The Band's 'King Harvest (has surely come)' which is actually a song about Unionism. I made it fit – yay for context! The Band were a 60's folk-rock group, and their cool songs include 'The Weight' and 'The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.'


	3. Cacti

Pre-series teenage Vash and Knives vignette. So anyway, there are cacti on Gunsmoke, right? And you can use the water that a cactus stores when you're stuck for water in the desert, right? And some cacti can cause… side effects, right? Kiddies, don't try this at home – rated T.

* * *

Word count: 118

Cacti

Vash stared up at the unending blue sky and sighed.  
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen! I love the world!" He cried to the echoing golden desert, and hugged his brother (who was more interested in the conga-line of pebbles). The swirling, vibrant colours, the movements, the scents and sounds! How could Vash have ever contemplated anything bad about this planet when it was so _beautiful _and so _full_ of _life_?

Knives realised that something was really wrong when the stand of cacti they'd eaten from started to sing as well as dance. In future, he decided, he'd stay away from this particular breed of cactus, if only because their chorus line was out of synch.

* * *

Note: I don't know much about deserts or cacti, since I live in New Zealand, where we don't have deserts in the proper sense of the word. 


	4. Cowgirl Lament

Ah. I have noticed the lack of a disclaimer thus far. Having no wish to be pursued by lawyers, rabid or otherwise, I decided I ought to stick one in. After checking my personal belongings, I can say with regret that I do not own Trigun. Nor any other kick-ass anime series, more's the pity.

* * *

Word count: 153

Cowgirl Lament

Meryl Stryfe, childless workaholic and brusque surrogate aunt to the children of the December orphanage, was laid to rest in Gunsmoke's sandy soil at only 49 years old. Stress-related heart-attack was what the death certificate said, but Milly knew better. Whatever the coroner said, it was really a broken heart.

Meryl had always had a strong internal mental support system; she could deal with anything thrown at her without turning to anyone else. The downside became apparent when she found something she couldn't deal with: the idea that the one thing she truly wanted was impossible. Without the capacity to turn to other people or fill the void inside herself, she crumbled. Like a walking corpse, Milly thought, with little pieces of her soul falling off every year.

There were red geraniums on her grave. Milly thought they were the wrong flower for him to bring, but Meryl would have appreciated the gesture.

* * *

This was my attempt at an angsty 'what happens after Vash denies Meryl for whatever reason' drabble. I am not much of a natural angst-er (can I say that? probably not), I tend to write it clinically. It was named in a hurry for the song 'Cowgirl Lament' by Goldenhorse (a very cool New Zealand alt-pop band) from their album _Out of the Moon_. Yeah, I don't own that, either. 


	5. Distance

Explanation for the last drabble – I know dying of a broken heart is overly dramatic, but I was going on the idea that Meryl lost her ability to deal with emotional problems and tried to bury it in work, and ended up dying early of stress-related heart attack. She was so confident that Vash was coming back for her, so I imagined that if he didn't love her/ loved her but couldn't be with her (your choice) it would be doubly crushing, since she would doubt her own judgement as well as having to deal with unrequited love. In essence, it was a broken heart (Millie always gets to the heart of things) but the immediate causes are more prosaic.

I love V/M pairings, partly because of the personality dynamics involved, and partly because I tend to go with canon couples for some reason. Because of the ambiguity in the series over Vash's feelings, the whole mortal/immortal bit, and the fact that things can go wrong anyway, I had to think about what would happen if things didn't turn out. Now I've mostly gotten it out of my system, I'd prefer to work with happy endings. Just have to look at it from the other perspective.

* * *

Word count: 111

Distance

He asked her to understand, and she did; the laws of nature wouldn't allow them to stay together, so better that any relationship die before it even began. As if that made it easier on either of them. He didn't even keep in touch – too many memories.

Time passed, and Vash walked through other lives, watching names and faces pass by; like watching scenery from a sandsteamer. Knives was his only constant, little comfort as that was.

As time passed he began to wonder if he should have stayed with her. Maybe then he would be able to reach out and touch the lives of the people who passed him by.

* * *

Um, this was basically me thinking about Vash loosing touch with humanity. I mean, if he distances himself from people he cared about and who cared about him, then it would be hard for him to go back and have lasting friendships with people, because he would never allow himself that level of intimacy again, he'd always draw back, and basically be alone forever. Well, he'd have Knives, but that relationship's kinda dysfunctional.

Um, this was done on no sleep. Blame that for the badness. And the fact that there's more discussion than drabble. I think that might be partly the fault of a 'waffling' gene. And being at University where you have to explain all your thoughts or else they mark you down.


	6. A Close Shave

On with the stupidity! Drabble about the perils of hyphenated surnames, and why husbands who think like 8-year-olds can come in handy.

* * *

Word count: 87

A Close Shave

"How about Alex?"

The current subject of conversation shifted a bit in his mother's arms, fast asleep. Thanks to his increased rate of growth, he had already filled out and was looking less 'old turtle-man' and more the stereotypical baby.

"Uh… no. Not Alex. And it's got nothing to do with Rem!" Vash said defensively at his wife's Look.

"Why not?"

"You can't give a kid the initials A-S-S. And no 'R' names either. The playground is a cruel place!"

Pause.

"What can you do with Daniel?"

* * *

This was kind of sparked by a discussion I had earlier this year with my middle half-brother about what he was going to name his new babies. When/if I have kids, I'm gonna try and give 'em names that can't easily be mocked. 


	7. Prodigal Son

I'm trying my hand at writing Millie. And religious themes. This comes from me wondering if Millie, who I'm assuming is Christian, ever worried about Wolfwood's soul, especially if she learned he was one of the Gung-Ho Guns. I've also kind of assumed Vash has shared other information with Millie, ok?

Hey, is it Millie or Milly? The spellchecker packed a sad over 'Milly', so I've gone for the path of least resistance.

And unfortunately, I've been too lazy to check what kind of 'cent' currency Gunsmoke has, so I've just used the one I remember. Someone, please, correct me and I'll fix it up.

One last thing - I hope I am not offending anyone; offence is in no way meant, and I'm sorry if anyone doesn't like the way I use religion here. Not that this contains anything of note, but faith is one of things that people feel very strongly about.

* * *

Prodigal Son

_Upon my bed at night_

_I sought him whom my soul loves;_

_I sought him, but found him not;_

_I called him, but he gave no answer._

The Song of Solomon 3:1

It cost 25 cecents to buy a candle, the little white kind. Even if it had been 25 double-dollars, Millie would still have bought it; it was for Nicholas, so she would have paid any price. She lit it with a careful hand, and sat down in the second row of pews.

There were bibles stuck haphazardly into a little frayed canvas pocket running the length of the pew in front of her. Millie gently pulled one out, and flattened the dog-eared corner; Mama had told her to take care of books, especially The Good Book. She started to flick through the delicate white pages with careful fingers, inhaling the scent of printer's ink.

Nicholas had been a good man. Despite the path he walked, he'd always believed in helping the children who needed it most. He spoke of the orphans he looked after with a slightly sad affection that Millie had at first was because he was away from them. Now she knew he thought he'd been too stained with blood to ever go near them again.

Millie bit her lip as tears formed. It wasn't right that he had gone against the Ten Commandments and killed that boy but he only did what he thought was necessary. Maybe there had been another way, but he… he wasn't very good at looking for it. If he'd had a bit more practice-

Millie guiltily smoothed down the thin pages. Her fingers had unconsciously curled up and crumpled the brittle paper and she couldn't wrinkle a Bible that belonged to a Church!

- _one sinner who repents_ –

She stopped, looked at the passage under her fingers. Right below the story her home town's Priest had told her when she was eight, the one about the runaway son and the good son and the fatted calf.

_Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance_

It felt as if a little light had been turned on in her chest. Warm relief flooded every inch of her, spreading out from her heart, flowing through her veins, making her light-headed and giddy.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood had returned to the fold as a lamb.

He _had_ repented.

He _had_ renounced killing.

He had regretted what he'd done, he'd wanted – needed – forgiveness and he had returned to God. He had let his enemy live and embraced the hope that there was a better way to live and a chance for a better world for the children. That was the heart of redemption, wasn't it?

The tiny pinpoint of light that was Nicholas' candle began to gutter, and Millie took it as a sign she ought to get going. She tucked the bible back in its place, and said her usual prayers. She added that she missed her Mr. Priest terribly, and wished he wasn't dead, but nothing could be done about that but she was glad that he'd repented, and she hoped that God was happy as well.

As an afterthought, she asked God to forgive him for smoking inside the church, too.

* * *

This was also inspired by the song 'Grace Cathedral Hill' by The Decembrists, a very wonderful indie band from Portland, Oregon. 

The title and fatted calf reference are from the parable of the prodigal son. For those who aren't aware of it, The Song of Solomon's in the Bible, too.And the second quote is Luke 15:7, or at least that's what I've noted it down as. If I'm wrong, I'm sorry, please correct me. I should probably say that I don't own the Bible or anything I have used from it, although that's a given. I just don't want anyone even thinking of thinking I claimed responsibility for anything in the Bible. I may be an agnostic, but I know that that's Wrong.


	8. Smile

OOC Vash drabble to the Lagwagon song 'Smile'. Half-crazed with too much work no sleep and caffeine, and then this song came on and the plot bunny bit. I had to write it down. It was 4am. It's barely been changed. Beware.

It's kinda lame, but the italicised lines are both lyrics and kind of Vash's thoughts.

* * *

T for language and bad drinking habits. 

word count: 108

Smile  


How had it happened?

He had been determined not to let anyone do this to him.

The bottleneck rattled against his glass and smell of Wild Turkey hit the back of his throat.

_I hate my friends._

They had no right to try to get to close him. Especially those bloody tagalong insurance girls!

All of them. Hate 'em.

Didn't they know that everything he had a hand in crashed and burned? So many dead, so much destroyed…

He couldn't afford the luxury of friends.

_I hate my friends 'cause they make me think about the smile I'm faking_

It was too late now. He cared for them.

* * *

Uh, yeah, I kinda wondered if Vash, maybe while drunk and thinking about how the people around him all died, ever resented the fact that Millie, Meryl and Wolfwood had become attached to him despite his best efforts. 

Lagwagon are a punk band, and they've written some of my favourite songs. They're an awesome live band. I don't own them, more's the pity.

Here's the full, relevant verse:

_Two in the morning here I am/ turning blue/ I'm drinking up for an old friend/ Bourbon/ can't clean my mind of this voice in my head/ "I hate my friends"/ Cause they make me think about the smile that I'm faking_


	9. Don't Neglect Your Pet

I just had to. It's in the title!

* * *

Don't Neglect Your Pet  


_Forty-two_…

Knives peeled off another sticking plaster. He glared at the perfectly composed figure in the corner, the source of his numerous injuries. No reaction. He went back to inspecting his gouges.

_Forty-three_…

He should have taken more care with selecting his agents. Some of them had turned out to be fickle beings, given to last minute switches in allegiance: his brother's influence was truly a force to be reckoned with. Wolfwood had been his prime example prior to this incident, but now the agent he had kept in reserve, his last bastion of the Gung-Ho Guns, an infiltrator supreme… had swapped sides. He glowered fiercely at the thought.

_Forty-four_…

"Stop glaring at her! You'll hurt her feelings." Vash sent his brother a wounded look, and picked up Knives' _former_ follower.

Knives scowled even harder, if at all possible, when Vash started cooing over her. He watched his brother nuzzle his ex-supporter, and reluctantly came to the conclusion that it was his lack of affection that drove her away.

_Mental note…in future, don't neglect your pet._

Nyao…. purr purr purr purr

* * *

I love Kuroneko-sama : ) 


	10. Don't Neglect Your Pet 2

Two hours after the last one, I came up with this while shopping for vegetables.

* * *

Don't Neglect Your Pet 2: She Followed Me Home, Can I Keep Her?

Knives gave his brother a cool, superior look over his newspaper. He sighed, and realised his brother would want to keep it in spite of the arguments. "They're such short-lived creatures, I don't know why you'd want one. But remember, dear brother, do not neglect your pet―"

"I know how to care for her," Vash pouted, staring at the little black cat washing her back on the windowsill, "and y'know, she's been following me around for _years_."

"Remember that hygiene is of paramount importance," Knives continued, smoothly ignoring his brother, "and you'll need to keep her well fed and happy to keep her from straying."

"_Stop talking about me like that!_" Meryl screamed.

* * *

I think this was floating round my head after reading fics where Knives calls Meryl Vash's "pet" : ) 


	11. Semantics

Sometimes you need juvenile humour. For instance, you may come up with something like this while you spend a good 40 minutes ironing and starching the pleats in a skirt (gah!). It's not a great drabble, in fact it's incredibly stupid... I think it might have something to do with the fact that I'm unemployed now, and my brain is melting. Dammit I want a job!

* * *

Word Count: 147 

Semantics

There were different kinds of fighting, Millie reflected, pouring the tea. Some fighting was okay; when Mr Vash and Mr Priest fought, they reminded her of middle-big-brother Luke and biggest-little-big-brother John arguing over who got the last slice of pie. When Mr Vash and Sempai fought it reminded her of next-to-biggest-big-sister Colette and Murray Hoppelwhite before Collie became Mrs. Hoppelwhite last January 16th (a Sunday). But when Mr Priest and Sempai fought, it was different. It _wasn't_ okay.

The mood was still sour in the house, so Millie had made them both relaxing herbal tea.

"What kind of tea is this?" Wolfwood asked, making a face at the flavour.

"It's that stuff that makes you lax." Millie replied.

"Don't you mean _re_lax, Millie?" Meryl asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh. See, on the packet it said it's a laxative."

Millie had never seen them turn white so quickly.

* * *

Semantics is a tricky thing (is that grammatically correct? I did say my brain is melting...). 

I hope everyone's been having a great New Year! I do hope that I can get another bout of computer time to properly review everything, there's been some really good stuff updated :) ...I like to take my time reviewing, and I haven't had all that much of it, what with Christmas and New Years (I was at the beach where it was hot and sunny, I love the southern hemisphere) looking for work and doing my CV and all... damn but cover letters are a bitch to write!

Anyway, _Thank You so so much_ to everyone who's reviewed so far... you people are wonderful. Wonderful, y'hear me!


	12. Long White Cross

Obligatory reflection one-shot with Wolfwood, the night before his death.Not very successful'cos I'm not so good with Wolfwood.

Rated 'T' for a swearword.

This was inspired by two songs: 'Wednesday Morning 3a.m' by Simon & Garfunkel, and 'Long White Cross' by Pluto.

* * *

Long White Cross  


Millie's breathing was slow, deep and heavy as she slept. The sound echoed throughout the quiet room, filling it end to end. It was a peaceful sound that Wolfwood could have listened to forever.

He fumbled around for a cigarette, lit it with fingers that shook slightly. The fifth moon was setting; soon the sky would start to grey, and then it would be morning. He didn't want to think about what would happen when the sun came up.

He caught sight of the Cross Punisher, leaning against the wall. In the muted light it almost glowed, white wrappings ghost-pale. Around it the shadows pooled deeper, blacker.

Wolfwood had once found the fact that a cross concealed his weapons ironic, even slightly appropriate. After all, what was he doing but sending sinners to be judged by the Lord? Now it seemed hollow. He felt like Judas.

Maybe… maybe he could make a different choice. Betray Knives. Give Legato and Chapel and any other Gung-Ho Guns a good 'fuck off', maybe try the whole rejection of killing thing that Vash preached. Hah, and while he was at it he could marry Millie and take her off to a little orphanage a few iles outside of December, where she'd be adored by all the kids.

The thought hurt. He wasn't given to fantasising about a perfect life because he knew how hopeless it was for someone like him. But tonight something was asking _why not?_ And the rest of Nicholas D. Wolfwood replied: because you'll probably die.

But… would it be worth the risk?

His eyes slid over to Millie. If there was anything in this world worth protecting, it was that selfless, kind innocence she was so full of.

Wolfwood had always known what would happen if he betrayed Knives: the bastard had made sure everyone saw the 'examples'. It was the cost of obedience he'd never considered. Could he even live with himself afterwards, knowing what would happen to Millie? To Vash? To Meryl, or the children, or anyone else he'd ever crossed paths with? The matter had been hopeless from the start. At dawn he'd have to make a final decision and time was running out. The long white cross had caught him up.

* * *

Sorry I keep using random songs, often only found easily in New Zealand (and Australia, sometimes), but it's often what's around me or what inspires me. This time though, if you want to actually hear the Pluto song, I can point you in the right direction: www(dot)pluto(dot)net(dot)nz. The band's website has mp3's of the song on it. It's sort of emo rock, I guess. I'm not a fan of the song, it wasmassively overplayed here, butI used it because of a misheard line: I thought it went '_the long white cross to catch you up_', which I though appropriate. It actually goes '_the long white cross too kind she was_'. 

I haven't updated or reviewed for a little while now, but I have a good reason: I started a new job a last month. I'm a library assistant now (it's great, I love books). I get paid. PAID! Real money! Not all that much by normal standards, but it's like over three times what I got on the dole. YAAAY!


	13. Conversations With Live People

Wow. It has been a LONG time since I've posted anything here... I've lurked a little since then, but I've barely had the time & inclination to write. Real life kinda intervened - work, family, a relationship that didn't work out...

And I STLL haven't had time to review stuff that I should have. Sorry, all!

Anyway, this little ficlet is something I have been working on for some time (I haven't forgotten Four Rooms btw). It is an attempt to write in the present tense. Why? Because I've never done it before, and, most likely, will never do so again. I have most likely stuffed up the grammar & done weird things with the tenses, as a lot of my grammar is self-taught.

Apologies to Joss Whedon for the title.

Conversations with live people

* * *

The room seems somehow oppressive, small. Rage fills it with a palpable, bitter air. 

"They're inherently flawed."

A sigh. The words are new, breaking the uncomfortable silence, but the argument runs on old tracks, the grooves worn deep through years of fighting. Then the same voice speaks again.

"They're despoilers. Ruining what they don't consume, always consuming more than they need."

Silence. Broken by a soft, "You don't understand."

"_What_ don't I understand?" The tone is sharp, petulant.

"That there's balance. You're right, there are bad people in the world, but there are also good people. And even the bad have some good in them. You just have to look for it."

"Good people? Don't be such a naïve fool. There is no such thing as _good_. It's a human idea, not something that can be objectively defined. It's a self-serving theory, just like everything else they dream up. It's all designed to let them ignore the truths that lie under their noses. Even if they think of themselves as…" he draws breath to add contempt to the next word, "_good_, they'll happily look the other way if there's something to gain. And even if they do something that appears selfless, they only do it to inflate their own egos. Everything comes back to their own self-serving interests."

"So… there's no such thing as inherent good but there is such a thing as inherent evil?"

"Do you deny that they cause harm to us, to our sisters, to the planet and themselves? What better definition of evil is there?"

"There's some truth in that." The sentence is said in a carefully neutral tone.

"You see?" smugness, "Those _spiders_ are greedy. Remember when we were young? Those people we saw, who were ready to kill each other because the water line was too long?"

"Yes. I remember almost everything," his brother shifts in his seat, a faraway note of pain in his voice, "and I know that when resources are tight, when it's a life or death situation, the worst part of humanity shows. But," the word is enunciated and it's clear that this is a big 'but', "how did they get like this?"

A pause.

"It's human nat-"

"No, I mean, how did they get to be here, stranded on this world, just hanging on."

"They ruined their home plane-"

"What happened to the ships that bought them here, that were going to help them settle here?"

"Destroyed."

Another pregnant silence, where the meaning of the words sink in.

"You blame _me_ for their actions? You bastard! _I_ was doing what was right! _I_ was protecting us! They would have torn us to _pieces_like… like…"

Power and gravity have come back into his voice, overriding his brothers'. "I'm not blaming you for everything that's happened. But you do need to face the consequences of your actions and take responsibility for them. I know what I've done, I've seen the results – and I know that I'm accountable for some of those you've killed because I didn't stop you." A heavy sigh, and then Vash continues. "It's a self-fulfilling prophecy, Knives. You believed that all humans were inherently evil and would destroy us, and you acted on that belief. That made them paranoid and desperate and they did try and kill us. Well, not us. _Me_."

The room becomes still. Right now the only sounds in the room are the faint rasps of breath, the muted creaks of occupied furniture and the pinging of the metal window frame expanding in the heat of the suns. The air smells faintly of dust and decay, the lingering edge of the kerosene that fills the unlit lamp on the bedside table mixing with a rich undertone of food.

"I answer to no-one."

"We all answer to ourselves and the rest of society."

Knives snorts contemptuously. "Human society is below me. It is nothing."

"What about my society?" An edge of humour is back in Vash's voice.

"Touché."

Knives turns to look out the small window. He is actually fidgeting, something he hasn't done since he was one. "What about our sisters, Vash? What can I do for them? What have _you_ ever done for them?"

"Some plants are still alive because of me. As a whole, I uh, I haven't done much, but…" he grins disarmingly, "it was kinda hard 'cos I was trying to run away from you and everyone else who wanted to kill me. I think I've got time to figure something out now."

"If you'd just done what I said, if you'd only seen it my way this would have never happened!" He surges upwards, trying to leave the bed.

"You're right, Knives. I probably would be dead by now."

The other sneers. "Weakling. Would you have really cut your life short for them?"

"What can I say? I'm a people person. Can't survive without 'em."

At his brother's words, Knives stares into his lap and whispers, "I never wanted to hurt you like that."

"You did, anyway." He shrugs, as if to say it was no big deal. "And I hurt your too. You're lucky I'm learning to leave the past behind me. I want to help you, and I want to help them, and I want to help our sisters, too. I think we might be able to compromise."

Knives frowns, and almost says something. He pauses, presses his lips shut, and then ventures to say "how do we help them though? It's impossible to help everybody."

"We'll find a way. There's always a way, if you look hard enough. And I want you to know you don't have to think like me. Just 'cos I-"  
"-_don't__say_-!"  
"-_live_ with a human," he's grinning now, with real humour, "it doesn't mean I expect you to. I just want you to let go and allow them get on with their lives. We can figure out a way to help our sisters together, as long as it doesn't involve killing. That's all I ask. Can you do that?"

There is a deafening quiet, and a sense of uncertainty, of teetering on the edge of some great pit.

"I'll… I'll try. For now."

* * *

Over-simplification time: postmodernism. It means different things in different disciplines, but at heart it is all about shaking up settled conventions and assumptions (mostly to do with 'reading' text). One aspect of this is revaluating the idea that there are independent, definable and essential meanings of abstracts such as love, charity, truth, goodness. Everything is both relative and constructed: meanings shift over time as it is set by human culture, and certain definitions are privileged over others due to ideas of class, race and gender. What we think of as absolute and inevitable are really the results of propaganda and manipulation. Or at least that's kind of the theory. Once again, this is a gross oversimplification of a complex theory, and I am emphasising only one application of postmodern theory. 

I'm no postmodernist. It has a definite point and useful applications especially in disciplines like history and English, but I like to believe in the essential natures of love and goodness.

I happen to think of Knives as an adherent to postmodern philosophy. Why? Not really sure, but I think it works.


End file.
